Twelve
by Soniaham
Summary: Darling, just take a breath and count to twelve. Oneshot


**i**

They have barely been friends for a month when she catches him reading.

He tells her, in hushed whispers, that he keeps it a secret because he wants to be seen as the rebel who escaped his family, not the normal guy who appreciates the art his murderer parents taught him.

When she laughs, he haughtily informs her that he does not read fairytales or crappy love stories, thank you very much, but actually turns the pages of only the best literature.

"Prove it" She dares him with her smile. "I won't tell anyone only if you read to me"

**ii**

And so it begins. He reads to her, when they sit by the lake or on the Edge of the Astronomy Tower. Sometimes even in the Common Room, when it's late at night and their thoughts won't fall asleep.

He reads to her, and his voice is a soft blanket that drapes itself around her shoulders and warms her, more than any fire could.

He reads to her, and she closes her eyes and lets her fake smile fade, being replaced with a small, real, beautiful one.

He reads to her, and her ears perk up as she follows every word he says, the way his voice seems to caress every syllable that rolls off his tongue.

He reads to her, and her face glows.

He reads to her, and his voice reaches so deep within her that sometimes her eyes shine, even though she prides herself on never ever crying.

While he reads to her, while he drapes the blanket around her thin frame and makes her smile and cry, he watches her.

**iii**

When they're in front of people, she acts like she cares.

He acts like he doesn't give a shit.

They are both liars.

In some weird, twisted way, when the two liars collide it becomes a game of truth, and it rolls off their tongue so fast and so sudden that sometimes they surprise even themselves.

Because, somewhere between the first and twentieth chapter he tells her about the sting of his father's fist, something he hasn't even talked to James about.

And in the moment before she plasters the smile on, she tells him about the nightmares and her irrational fear of death, something she hadn't even talked to herself about.

**iv**

She has always been told that she's too impulsive, that she doesn't know what she gets herself into, and that one day she's going to regret it.

She only realizes the truth in that now, as she sits trying to memorize the color of his eyes, and fighting back the urge to kiss him.

She's falling, and she seems to have lost her parachute.

**v**

She tells him, eventually, because she's never been that good at keeping secrets and she's scared that if she keeps it in any longer she'll explode.

She tells him when they're roaming the halls in the dark, because she doesn't want to be able to see his face clearly, and the darkness has always been her cave.

She whispers them, the three words that she had always though are given too much importance, but she understands now why. They _are_ important.

Even though it's too dark to see, she can hear every single beat of her heart as she listens to the silence that follows her confession.

And then, he is kissing her, roughly and softly all at the same time, and she is almost certain that when he places his warm lips on her collarbone, he is whispering "I love you too"

And then, as suddenly as he began, he pulls back, his eyes wide and dark and terrified.

He runs away without a word, but there is no sound needed, she understands.

He always has been scared of heights.

**vi**

She tries very hard, at first, to convince him. She dresses up and uses Lily's expensive cologne and sends him dazzling smiles as she swings her shiny hair over her shoulder.

He doesn't react, acting as though their long-lived friendship and his whispered "I love you" of only a week before never happened.

Eventually, she stops trying. She goes back to her messy buns and make-up less face, ink smudges decorating her hands. Her chronically wide eyes, full of curiosity and sparkle, are framed by the monsters that share her bed, and she is constantly cold, having lost her blanket. Her plastic smile is still on, though.

His face turns to stone when he sees her now, his eyes become hard steel. because now that she's being her it's harder to be scared.

Soon, when she thinks she's given him enough space and she knows he won't change his mind, she approaches him, voice soft but confident.

"I miss you. We can forget it happened, an everything can be okay. I just miss being your friend."

_(I love you. I threw myself off the cliff and now I'm broken. It can't be okay, but I can pretend that it is. I'd rather be your friend than lose you entirely.)_

**vii**

The first thing they go back to is the reading. At first, he reads too fast, clumsily tripping over the words like an old man who forgot how to walk. Eventually, his previous elegance comes back, and his voice once again glides across the dance floor of the pages, doing pirouettes and beautiful leaps from word to word, just like it used to.

Slowly, hesitantly, they go back to the jokes and laughs, the walks and chats, and even the occasional hugs.

**viii**

She now has the molten grey of his eyes tattooed to her heart, and the three traitorous words are still there, threatening to choke her.

But she has learned her lesson, so she tries to be happy with what she has now, and patiently waits for her bones to mend.

**ix**

He realizes, as he watches her, that he has no reason to be scared. That his fear of heights is irrational, because letting himself love her will not be falling, but flying.

And if someone has the ability to give him wings, it is her.

**x**

He is reading to her, his back to the trunk of the willow tree and her head on his lap.

A single tear has escaped the corner of her eye, and splashed onto his pants.

He doesn't ask why she's crying, he's afraid of what she'll answer.

He keeps reading instead, relentlessly, until he suddenly falls silent.

And then, with the tone of a phoenix rising from the ashes, he keeps reading.

"All the courage within me will light a flame" he whispers, just loud enough for her to hear. "I won't run anymore."

**xi**

It is not a fairytale. He refuses to call it a love story.

He says he only reads the best literature, and their story is his favorite book.

**xii**

And, like all stories, theirs must end.

1,158 words.

_Hello, here I am with this slightly weird and confusing thingy. Hope you like it and thanks for reading._

_This was written for the Off the Block Competition - Breastroke, extra hard, and for The Star Challenge - Capella._


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